Chapter 5

Pilar loved the city of Santiago. Its crowded, twisted streets were narrow and steep, and from different points one could view the tree-covered mountains and the beautiful blue waters of the bay that emptied into the Caribbean. Most of the buildings were of stone and constructed by Spain. The grander places with their expansive gated courtyards and ironwork verandahs housed the city’s wealthy, but she and her sister Doneta were walking the cramped, crowded streets of the poor, which were lined with women selling fruits and vegetables; men offering to black shoes; old Vodoun women from Haiti peddling potions guaranteed to bring death to your enemies, make a person fall in love, and everything in between. Small children ran through the crowds, garnering stern warnings from local elders, and laundry hung in windows open to the breeze. The air was thick with the mouthwatering smells of braziers cooking yams, fish, sheep, and goat, and the people they passed spoke French and Spanish, and because many from the Far East had been brought to the island as slaves, Chinese could be heard as well.

She and Doneta were ostensibly on their way to sell the eggs they’d gathered from their hens that morning, and although it was just past dawn the streets were as filled as if it were noon.

“Have you ever wanted to live elsewhere, Pilar?”

Somewhere in the distance came the sound of drumming and the syncopated rhythms put a lift in her spirit and step. “Not really. Why?”

“Thinking about the stories Mama used to tell about all the beautiful places she visited growing up. It would be nice to see at least one of those places before I die.”

Born in Seville, their mother, Desa, was the daughter of a high-ranking Spanish diplomat. She’d been disowned for marrying their father. “I suppose.”

“I’m twenty-three years old, Pilar, and the only place I’ve ever seen is—here. Is it wrong to want to be elsewhere with maybe a good husband and live in a nice house with nice things?”

“No, ’Neta. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Pilar didn’t hold her sister’s dreams against her, because who wouldn’t want to get away from the poverty that was their reality? But because she knew it was only a dream, she didn’t long for it. Instead, she longed for changes in their world so that her younger cousins might attend school and learn to excel at something besides thievery. Hoping they could get an education was one of the many reasons she supported General Maceo and the rebels in their quest to gain independence from Spain. As it stood now, only the children of the wealthy were allowed to study formally. People like her family and her neighbors, no matter their color, weren’t offered the opportunity because of their station in life. And times were changing. With the growing presence of the soldiers in cities like Havana and Santiago, it was more difficult to make a living outside the law. The wealthy had begun hiring armed men to keep their homes safe, thus making it nearly impossible to slip in under darkness and slip out again with valuables that might help put food on the table for a few days. Doneta was an outstanding artist and in times past, her forgeries of the Old Masters sold to gullible art collectors brought in enough gold to keep their farm afloat for months, but the paintings took time and couldn’t be rushed, so in the meantime other avenues had to be pursued to fill the coffers. With the passing away of their father’s old fences and smugglers, those avenues were just about dry. Not to mention the Banderas name was now well known to the police. The secrecy that had shrouded their activities for decades was shattered last month when their cousin Juan, the adolescent son of one of her late uncles, was apprehended while trying to steal a prized statue from one of the city’s museums, of all places. Having exhibited more bravado than brains his entire life, he’d done no planning beforehand, as far as Pilar knew, and as a result had been sentenced to ten years in a prison outside of Havana, leaving behind his three sisters and heartbroken mother, Ria. Now, everywhere they went, they were watched. Like now. There was a policeman about a half block behind them. He seemed to be just ambling through the streets, but at the last corner, Pilar stopped and looked back. When he met her eyes, he hastily glanced away and crossed the street. He trailed them still. “We’re being followed.”

“I know,” her sister replied. “Maybe we should go over and ask him if he wants to buy our eggs.”

Frustrated, they kept walking, but his looming presence was a real problem. Going to the market had been a cover for the true reason they’d come into town. Pilar and Tomas had split the gold cuff links taken from Noah Yates and it had been her plan to slip into the home of an old friend of the family who specialized in buying purloined items and leave again with their value in coin, but with the policeman dogging their steps, that was now impossible. One did not bring the police to a friend’s door. Her mother needed the money, had been counting on it really in order to pay the ever-increasing taxes the crown kept imposing, but now? She sighed angrily.

They finally reached the small open-air market owned by Carlos Mendez, a widower in his late forties. The policeman followed. “This is all Juan’s fault,” Pilar snapped and her sister agreed. If her cousin hadn’t already been in custody, she’d sail him out into the bay and drop him into deep water for the problems he’d brought down on their heads. The money they’d get for the eggs would be a pittance compared to what they might have received in exchange for the cuff links, but there was nothing they could do about it now, so they led the man on their heels past the penned-in chickens and pigs; the open crates of mangoes, red bananas, and coconuts; and the burlap sacks of yams to the back of the market, where Mendez sat at the rickety table that doubled as his office. His six children could be seen stacking vegetables and opening crates and standing guard to make sure the goods weren’t stolen by the gangs of orphans who roamed the streets.

“Good morning, Pilar and Doneta.”

“Good morning, Mr. Mendez. We have eggs for you.”

The policeman sidled closer, as if he were contemplating buying some of the candy for sale but they were certain he was attempting to eavesdrop on the conversation. They ignored him.

Mendez took the basket of eggs, and after adding theirs to the ones he had for sale, he returned the empty basket and Pilar placed the few pesos he handed her into the pocket of her skirt. “Thank you, Mr. Mendez.”

“You’re welcome. Give my regards to your lovely mother.”

“We will.”

As they walked back out to the street, the policeman, now standing over a basket of oranges, pretended disinterest. Pilar almost stopped to ask if he wanted them to wait until he was done looking at the fruit, but decided provoking him was not a good idea. Instead she and her sister walked back the way they’d come. He followed them all the way to the stable where they’d left their wagon, then watched and waited until they drove off before he turned away and headed back to the city’s center. Pilar held the reins and shook her head with disgust.

Scattering chickens and a few pigs, Pilar steered the wagon onto their property and pulled the reins to a halt next to the listing wooden barn. Their farm was just outside the city. It originally belonged to their pirate grandfather Benito and his wife, Anitra, who began her life as a slave in Jamaica and lived there until she was stolen away by him during a raid. His ancestors were originally from the Mandingo tribe—tall, strong, and reddish in skin tone, while she was of the Ganga, short and freckled like most of her people. Both Pilar and Doneta had a light dusting of the spots on their upper cheeks, as had their father, Javier.

Their mother, Desa, was seated on the porch. At their approach, she stood and smiled. “How is the city?”

“We couldn’t sell the cuff links because we were followed by the police,” Pilar said as she climbed the two broken steps. Like the barn and the house, the porch was a weathered silver. There were numerous slats missing but enough remained to support the old settee and a few chairs so one could sit outside and enjoy the mountain breezes. She handed her mother the few pesos from the eggs. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“That’s disappointing. Tell me about this policeman.”

So they did.

She sighed with disgust. “This is all Juan’s fault. Had he been half as smart as he thought he was he wouldn’t be jailed. My poor Ria. She’s going to have to go into Santiago and look for work now that Juan can no longer help out.”

Pilar was certain the thought of having to hire herself out as a maid or washwoman had likely sent her proud aunt to her bed. Ria was among the best document forgers in Cuba. During slavery, because Santiago held one of the island’s largest population of free blacks and free mulattos, escaped slaves flocked to the city’s narrow streets and alleys in droves. Their need for forged freedom papers and notes of passage made for a steady income. Now, with slavery on the wane, the demand for her skills had waned as well, and with her son Juan now breaking rocks, the money he’d once made working on the docks would be sorely missed. As Pilar had mused earlier—times were changing. What hadn’t changed was her commitment to the rebels, and with that in mind, she needed to prepare the Alanza for another run to Santo Domingo for guns.

“I received a letter from my brother in Florida today.”

Pilar and Doneta’s faces showed surprise. As far as Pilar knew, her mother hadn’t received a correspondence from her family in decades. Her Castilian parents pronounced her dead after she ran off on her wedding day to become the wife of Javier Banderas, and one didn’t commune with the dead.

“He’s invited us to the rumba he’s having for his birthday in a few weeks. And,” she added, “he says he’s anxious to renew his ties to me as his sister.”

“Is he dying?” Pilar asked.

Doneta snorted.

Her mother laughed, “Not that I know of. No.”

“Then why now, after so many years?”

Desa shrugged. “I’m his only sister. With both our parents passed on, maybe he’s lonely. I don’t know.”

Doneta asked, “Are you going?”

“Yes. We’re all going.”

Pilar stilled.

As if anticipating Pilar’s arguments, she stated, “I know you have obligations you deem more important, Pilar, but this is family.”

“Mama—”

“Pilar, your father and uncles gave their lives to Cuba, but nothing was more important to them than familia. I doubt Antonio Maceo will storm Havana anytime soon.”

Pilar studied her and sensed she was holding something back. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

“Yes. It is my hope that you two will find husbands while we’re there.”

Doneta’s eyes widened with delight.

Pilar’s narrowed with suspicion. “I don’t want a husband.”

“I understand, Pilar, but it is time you started considering it.”

“Mama, I’m twenty-five years old. No man will want me as a wife. All I wish is to do is help Cuba become a better place.”

“Who’s to say a husband won’t want that, too?”

“I doubt he’ll want a wife who smuggles guns.”

Her mother smiled indulgently. “True, but you are so much more. Your heart, your great mind, compassion, and dedication are as much a part of you as your fervor for Cuba. A man will value that.”

“No, Mama.”

“Pilar, I have never put a bridle on you. When you were seven years old and wanted to ride your horse into the mountains alone, I let you go—even though my Javier and I argued about it for days afterwards. When he died, my heart was broken and the very last thing I wanted was for you to go off and fight with the Mambis, too, but again I let you go and prayed for your safe return every day. Do I want you smuggling guns? No. Do I worry each and every moment that you’re away?” She laid her hand tenderly against Pilar’s cheek. “Again, yes.”

There was a seriousness in her mother’s eyes that made Pilar gently cover the hand with her own.

“The three of us will be going to the rumba.”

Pilar knew that her mother’s mind was made up, and she’d broach no more argument, so after sighing softly in defeat, she leaned over and placed a kiss on her mother’s golden cheek. “Yes, Mama.”

“Good.”

“Tomas and I are taking the ship out tonight. We’ll be back in the morning.”

“That’s fine. When you return we’ll make our plans to leave in a few days.”

Pilar nodded and went to make her preparations.

After initially hiding the Alanza behind the waterfall, she and Tomas made the trek back a few days later to retrieve it, and under a moonless sky sailed it to the Santiago docks and into the small shipyard of a man allied with the rebels. He had the hull painted black and added new sails dyed a deep indigo. The altered schooner now bore little resemble to Yates’s Alanza, so Pilar rechristened it the Sirena.

This night’s run would be its maiden voyage and Pilar couldn’t wait to feel the waves rolling beneath the hull. Doneta drove her and Tomas to the docks.

“Be careful,” Doneta cautioned quietly as Pilar and Tomas climbed down.

“We will,” Pilar assured her. “Be back before dawn.”

Doneta drove off and Pilar and Tomas moved quickly to meet the shipyard owner. He was a big bulbous man named Gerardo Calvo who loved his cigars and had grown up with General Maceo. He’d be supplying a few of his most trusted workers to round out the crew and the gold for the guns. “You should wait an hour or two before casting off. The navy has changed its schedule. You don’t want to run into them the first night out with her.”

Pilar didn’t like having to delay departure but knew he was right, so two hours before midnight they set sail.

There was a fair wind and they made good time so with the Sirena anchored a short distance offshore, Pilar, and two of Calvo’s men rowed under the moonless night sky to the rendezvous point on the beach. They were very late for their appointed meeting but it couldn’t be helped. She hoped her contact hadn’t given up on their arrival, because the rebels dearly needed the guns they could amass.

The wind picked up. A storm was on the way but with any luck she’d be able to conduct her business and return home before the inclement weather took hold.

“Do you think he waited?” One of the men asked.

“I hope so,” was all she would say. Voices carried over the water, so the less they conversed the better.

A light flashed in the darkness above the beach. Their signal. The sight filled her with relief. Having risked their lives, she hadn’t wanted to return home empty-handed.

“You’re late,” the smuggler, an old Dominican named Octavio, snapped sharply.

“The Spanish altered their hunting schedule. My apologies.”

Even as they spoke she and her crew kept an eye on the water. If the Spanish navy took it upon themselves to suddenly appear, Tomas and the two men on board the Sirena would have no choice but to raise anchor and hope to outrun the enemy, leaving behind Pilar and the others on shore. “How many did you bring?” she asked Octavio.

“Ten.”

The number was small but it was ten more guns than the rebels had presently.

“There’s also gunpowder,” Octavio added. He too kept a keen eye on their surroundings. “Let’s finish our business while the moon is still behind the clouds so that we may return home safely.”

Pilar agreed and counted out the precious gold given to her by Calvo that he was owed. As he pocketed it and disappeared into the darkness, she and her men loaded the case of guns and powder and rowed back out to the Sirena.

Once the contraband was secured, she gave the order to cast off. The anchor was raised and with the Sirena’s indigo sails fat with a steady wind, Tomas piloted them west for home.

They were almost there when a flash of lightning broke the silence. An ominous rumble of thunder followed. The wind increased sharply making the sails strain and the schooner began to pitch on an increasingly rough sea. “Tomas!” she yelled urgently over the wind.

“Doing my best!” The rest of the crew scrambled over the deck to adjust the sails and keep the Sirena on course. She ran to join them but stopped frozen when another flash of lightning revealed something from a nightmare. The biggest man-of-war she’d ever seen was barreling down on them. “Spanish man-of-war! Tomas! By all that’s holy, get out of its path!”

Fat drops of rain began pelting them and soon fell in blinding sheets. She added her muscle to that of the men in an effort to use the wind-filled sails and the sloop’s speed to outrun the well-armed battleship. Eerie intermittent flashes of lightning showed the Spanish vessel still on course. “Tomas!”

Her cry melded with an explosion as a cannonball found its mark and the concussion flung her high up in the air. She landed in the water just as a second explosion shook the Sirena, sending shards of burning wood and spinning metal raining down as if born of the storm. Dazed and disoriented, she instinctively dove beneath the surface of the dark water. Grateful to be wearing the simple cotton pants and blouse favored by the people of her island and not a skirt with a wealth of slips beneath, she swam for her life and hoped her crew was doing the same.

“Pilar! Pilar!”

Pilar could hear her sister Doneta calling from a distance that sounded far away. Struggling out of an encasing fog, Pilar slowly opened her eyes.

“Oh, thank the saints! You’re alive,” Doneta choked out. “I thought you were dead!”

Pilar realized she was lying on her back on the beach but had no recollection how she’d come to be there. Her thin clothing was soaked through, her head ached tremendously and her limbs were heavy as lead. She closed her eyes again, hoping the pain in her pounding head would cease, and then the retching began. Up came all the seawater she’d swallowed again and again, until her sides ached and her throat burned. Memories of the night rushed back and she went deathly still. “Where are Tomas and the others?” Panicked, she surveyed the beach and then the water. “Did you see them?”

“No. Only you. I’ve been looking for you since dawn. What happened?”

Pilar scrambled to her feet. Ignoring the question and the pain, she ran to the edge of the water to scan the gray water still churning and angry from last night’s storm for any signs of her companions. She looked up and down the beach but may as well have been the only person in the world.

Her sister came to her side and said with quiet urgency, “We need to get home before we’re seen. Come.”

But Pilar didn’t want to leave. If she stayed longer maybe one or all might appear. Suppose they came ashore injured and needed assistance? Worry filled her but she knew Doneta was right. If the Spanish were patrolling nearby she needed to get off the beach.

While Doneta drove the wagon pulled by their old mule, Salazar, Pilar was secreted in the false bottom of the bed. She was exhausted but it was overridden by concern for the crew. Tomas cared for his aging mother, and although she knew nothing about the lives of the others, more than likely they had families that depended on them as well. Everyone tied to the rebellion knew the dangers inherent in their fight, but no one wanted the consequences to come home to roost among their own. Having personally mourned the loss of her father and uncles, Pilar knew such grief couldn’t be measured. She prayed the men had reached home safely.

“Halt!”

As the wagon stopped, Pilar stilled. She placed her hand on the hilt of the machete lying by her side.

A male voice demanded, “Your name and where you are bound, senorita?”

“I am Doneta Banderas and on my way home, Captain.”

Addressing him by rank was her sister’s subtle way of letting Pilar know he was a soldier. “Banderas. Are you kin to Javier Banderas?”

“I’m his daughter.”

“Step down please.”

“What have I done?”

“Just step down, senorita. We need to search your wagon.”

Pilar had no way of knowing how many men there were but that didn’t matter. She and her sister were alone and except for the lone machete, unarmed. If the soldiers were intent upon harm, they’d be easily overpowered.

She heard Doneta explain, “There’s nothing back there but sacks of meal and fishing poles. I went fishing this morning but caught nothing.”

“Either step down or I’ll have my men assist you.” The threat in his voice was plain.

A few seconds later, Pilar heard footsteps and sounds of the items in the bed above her being moved around. She prayed they wouldn’t look further.

The same male voice called out, “Cut those sacks open!”

“No!” her sister screamed angrily.

Pilar imagined the meal flowing out of the sacks and spreading onto the wagon bed or onto ground.

Doneta demanded. “Who’s going to compensate my mother for that wasted meal?”

“The families of rebels aren’t compensated, but you can always petition the governor,” the Spaniard chuckled sarcastically.

Pilar’s jaw tightened with anger.

“May I continue on my way?” Doneta snapped.

“Yes, senorita, but be thankful we found nothing. The navy sank a rebel boat off the coast last night. They’re pretty sure the crew died, but we’ll be keeping a close eye on this area for a while. Would be a pity to hang someone as beautiful as you.”

Doneta offered no reply.

Pilar felt the wagon shift as her sister climbed back up to the seat. A few seconds later they were moving again. Pilar was pleased that the soldiers mentioned not having found any of her crewmen. She hoped that meant the men were safe, but it didn’t diminish her worries.

When they reached the farm, Doneta helped the shivering and pale Pilar to the ground and their mother came running. “Oh thank God, you’re alive. Come, let’s get you into the house.”

After stripping away her sodden clothes, drying herself and slipping into an old nightshirt, she climbed into bed and managed to tell her mother the story, to which Desa replied, “There’s no guarantee they won’t find out who was involved. We need to leave the island as soon as possible. Pilar, you sleep. Doneta and I will get us ready.”

The next night, with the help of the local rebels, the Banderas women boarded a boat and set sail for sanctuary with Desa’s brother in Florida.